


to the end of the world and back

by SapphicScholar



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angel/Demon AU, F/F, literal centuries of pining, loosely inspired by Good Omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicScholar/pseuds/SapphicScholar
Summary: “What was Alex supposed to say?“This was never how you were supposed to find out that somewhere along the way I went from hating you on principle to a reluctant alliance with you to genuine friendship to, after a very memorable trip to Marie Antoinette’s palace (and thank you so much for that ‘tip,’ Maggie), realizing there might be something else between us.”No. Definitely not the way to do it.”Or the Good Omens-inspired angel/demon Sanvers AU
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	to the end of the world and back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bathtimefunduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bathtimefunduck/gifts), [Lurkz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurkz/gifts).



> A/N: For Lurkz and Nat – happy birthday, friends! Thanks for always being there with some nice words and adorable dog photos when things are going to shit!
> 
> Also, you definitely don't have to have read or seen Good Omens for this to make sense!

Fresh from nudging yet another senator poised to make the world a worse place for the kinds of humans Maggie liked best into sending compromising messages to an aide with a weakness for martinis and fleeting moments in the spotlight, Maggie strolled the streets of Washington DC, looking for something to keep her occupied. She let herself linger in front of a few cars as lights shifted from red to green, feeling as the air tensed, growing bitter as their frustration and anger seeped into it. It wasn’t quite as potent as in New York, but it got the job done, and she smiled to herself as they revved their engines, poised to scream at the next person to get in their way.

Maggie paused in front of the Supreme Court. It would be so very easy… But, no, it was good to pace herself. It wasn’t like those heady early days when destruction came easily, when all she needed to do was let herself think about having been cast out without a second thought… Her fingers had sparked with it then, her whole body burning with a need to make everyone feel the same misery of pain and rejection she had. (She did duck down into the cafeteria and switch a few signs around. If the newest judge who had no place sitting on the bench happened to have a worse afternoon for it, well…it was chaos, and that was enough for the higher ups down below.)

The Library of Congress gleamed bright white in the high afternoon sun, and Maggie found herself strolling towards it, knocking over several of those infernal scooters as she passed and grinning at the screeching alarms that sounded in her wake. She’d gotten top commendations from the higher ups down below for that particular suggestion, whispered into the ear of a tipsy backer who wanted ways to “protect” his investment.

Reappearing on the other side of security and those closed doors and velvet ropes that did nothing to keep out inquisitive children, let alone immortal beings with all the power of hell at their disposal, Maggie breathed in the smell of old books and settled into an armchair. Whose personal library had she ended up in this time? She glanced around for a sign, her eyes finally settling on it. Woodrow Wilson. Ah, the old racist. Not that different from the current one; although, she acknowledged, he could probably name seven or eight times as many countries as the current one could. A wave of her fingers and the security system went dark. She pulled open the cabinet door and sprinkled just enough water for the pages to go soft and mildewy—too slowly for it to be noticed in time. There. The legacy he deserved. Rotting from the inside out.

The click of a lock startled Maggie and she eased the cabinet door shut before straightening her shoulders out.

“And this,” the man’s voice boomed out, “is what we call Mahogany Row, which is a bit funny, since none of the wood is actually mahogany.” She grimaced as hollow laughter met the comment.

As the group filed in through the doorway, Maggie slunk along the wall.

“Oh, are you here for the 4pm talk?” the man asked.

Maggie froze, shrugged, then nodded.

“It can get confusing back here, but you actually want to head down the hallway. The events staff must have left these doors unlocked again.”

Maggie grinned at the bit of unexpected dissent, then ducked out into the corridor, following it down to a large room where a modest crowd of people had assembled. She glanced around, looking for any indication of what the event was.

“Program?”

Maggie blinked up at a smiling young woman who couldn’t have been older than 25—then again, after centuries and centuries of existence, she’d been known to underestimate these sorts of things by a few years…or decades. Her hair was swept back into a low braid, and her bowtie, while carefully tied, was ever so slightly crooked. Not the right target, Maggie decided in an instant. But, well, there was always fun to be had. She reached out and carefully straightened the bowtie, smirking at the light pink flush that colored the girl’s cheeks.

“Why don’t you just tell me what I can expect?” Maggie purred.

“Right.” She swallowed heavily. “Um, it’s a talk—one of our scholars in residence, he, uh, he was working in our Civil War archives, and he’s found a number of never-before-seen letters—three all in the same hand.”

Maggie hummed and glanced down at the program’s title: “‘We have lived lifetimes together, but I fear this may be the end’: Queer Worldmaking in Wartime.”

The girl blinked up at her.

“Well this sounds rather interesting, doesn’t it?” With a parting wink, Maggie settled herself down at the end of a row of chairs and watched as the seats around her slowly began to fill up.

Eventually someone walked onto the stage and made a few brief remarks—though they could have been briefer—before finally handing the stage over to Dr. Franklin, a young academic whose hands trembled ever so slightly as he took his place at the podium and directed a shaky smile out at the audience.

And then Maggie listened. Listened as he talked about all the work that had been done on homosocial sympathies during the Civil War, about the letters that had been found in archives all across the country, reflecting clear evidence of love between men.

Finally, he cleared his throat, his shoulders straightening ever so slightly as he shifted to a new slide. “I went into the archives here hoping to find more of these fragments of same-sex love in the days before the rise of sexual taxonomies that would draw stark divisions between heterosexuality and homosexuality and cast such affections in a new light. They were certainly there, and I wouldn’t want to discount their value. But that wasn’t all I found. Within these archives were three dated letters, all written in the same hand, that seem to me to evince a new relationship to time—one that has frequently been characterized as modernist in nature. This writer speaks of whole lifetimes and histories lived in moments together. The past becomes present anew to these men, and their love allows them to imagine vast futures stretching out before them.”

Maggie listened as he read snippets of the letters. The words were beautiful, and Maggie felt something deep inside of her warming in a way that it never did. Or, well, perhaps she shouldn’t say never, but it had been several years since she had seen _her_ and felt the kinds of things best left whispered into dark nights when they could both pretend they were someone else, somewhere else, in some world where they might be possible.

But then the slides were shifting again—now there were scans of the letters displayed. Dr. Franklin read from his notes, growing more and more animated as he went on: “This soldier—A., or, in one letter, Alex—and his beloved M. imagined…” The words faded into background static as Maggie’s eyes found the screen. Found the scrawled cursive scratch that Alex had always insisted was fully legible.

> _I’ve walked beside you in Pompeii among the ruins and wondered what it might have meant to be frozen in time alongside you._
> 
> _I’ve found traces of you scattered throughout Europe, bathed in the blood of revolutions, cloaked in the light of new worlds beginning._
> 
> _I’ve glimpsed your shadow and followed your footfalls to the fields of Gettysburg and Shiloh and Antietam, needing to be with you another day._
> 
> _We have lived lifetimes together, but I fear this may be the end. I feel the earth as we know it trembling and giving way beneath me, and they herald a war to end history, a war to end the world. On this, the eve of our destruction, lest I should never see you again, I must tell you things that I have, until now, kept hidden. It is you—you, who has been cast out—that has given me a reason to believe, to hope._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _A._

Maggie listened to the rest of the talk in a daze, barely hearing anything beyond the constant pulse of “ _a reason to believe, to hope_ , _”_ ringing in her ears.

The question period sped by in a haze of growing annoyance and frustration as two older men—both, apparently, Civil War historians—questioned Dr. Franklin’s readings of the letters, demanding to know why he was certain that M. was fighting alongside A., why M. might not have been a wife waiting for him at home.

(Maggie waited for them outside afterwards and stole both of their wallets, tossing them down into the Metro tracks before they could even notice they were gone.)

\---

Grimacing at the letter—yet another summons from above about doing something wrong _again_ —Alex carefully shredded it into smaller and smaller pieces until it was too small for her to read and consider any longer. Perhaps, if they were so particular about doing things the ‘right’ way with the humans, they shouldn’t have sent their prodigal daughter down to Earth to be tempted and reminded of all the reasons that their too stringent rules had never been hers, might even have nuance and loopholes that they didn’t want to acknowledge.

But, honestly, how was she to know that helping nudge a few scientists in the right direction towards discovering life on other planets would lead droves of humans to lose their faith? It was _progress_ , and she was here to help lead the humans in the right direction, was she not? Then again, she and God and the archangels had never really seen eye to eye on what it meant to guide humanity.

_“You must protect and guide them on their journey into the light.”_

_Alexandra had taken the words to heart, had watched on in amazement as Earth had been shaped and built, atom by atom, populated with wondrous beasts even the heavens had never dreamed of, until, at long last, two more—“humans” they had been called—were placed in the heart of it, and Alexandra set down as their guard._

_Guarding she could do. She had earned her place through battle, proven her worth with a fiery sword and all the righteous fury of someone who knew, who believed in everything she stood for._

_And when one of the demons slithered into this new kingdom, ready to tempt Alexandra’s human—the one who had taken to spending her days walking beside Alexandra, asking her question after question that left Alexandra’s mind thirsting with a need to know—she knew instinctively what needed to be done. Her sword was drawn, flames dancing along its blade, before her human could even notice the demon’s approach._

_But then she was being plucked from her post, pulled back. “They must be tempted. Man and woman, God has created them, and endowed them with free will. Now, they must prove their place.”_

_Alexandra’s brow had furrowed. If they were to prove something, what need had they of a protector?_

_And when, tempted, they fell, something inside Alexandra bristled. She protested—they lacked the answers they had needed, had not been guided the way she was meant to guide them. When they were banished anyway, for the first time in her eons of existence, Alexandra felt that surety in the justice of their plan tremble._

Sweeping away the bits of her letter, Alex threw her laptop into her bag and headed for the door. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late for the talk, and she’d miss out on Dr. Zwinski’s lecture on black holes, and she did so love hearing the humans expound upon all the things they couldn’t quite grasp in their entirety. But decade after decade, she watched them inching closer and closer to something like answers, watched them scraping together data and facts and so many inventions as they tried and tried and tried. And in those moments, Alex couldn’t quite help loving humanity. Just a little. Less than she should and for all the reasons she shouldn’t.

She shook her head. There was nothing to be gained in dwelling where she ought not.

When she made it out to her car, she found a small note with a scarlet wax seal she’d recognize anywhere sitting on the seat. With trembling hands, she pulled it open.

> _My dear Alex (or is it A. that you prefer?),_
> 
> _I’ve just been to the most interesting talk in the States yesterday. It seems a young scholar—a historian, so I suppose he might have escaped your preferred domains—has found the most remarkable letters from the 1860s. You remember the spring of ’64, don’t you? How could we forget? You’d been called back to your post as General of His Army and spent several months with me instead, as if everything could simply freeze on the precipice of the end of the world as we knew it._
> 
> _You never mentioned that you had written me…_
> 
> _I believe it’s my turn to pay for dinner, is it not? Send me a location, and I’ll be there._
> 
> _-M._

Alex froze. It couldn’t be… She’d intended to burn those letters when the world didn’t end. But then again, there were the celebrations with Maggie. And an awful lot of whiskey. And a few nights spent all over the world remembering why they didn’t want it to end in the first place. But perhaps…perhaps she had left some of her personal belongings back in the States with the rations she’d intended to leave behind for the Union troops. Well. That made things awkward.

She unlocked her phone. Then locked it. Unlocked it. Locked it. Repeated the pattern until it demanded that she manually enter the password.

But what was she supposed to say?

“This was never how you were supposed to find out that somewhere along the way I went from hating you on principle to a reluctant alliance with you to genuine friendship to, after a very memorable trip to Marie Antoinette’s palace (and thank you _so much_ for that ‘tip,’ Maggie), realizing there might be something else between us.”

No. Definitely not the way to do it.

\---

_“So,” the demon drawled as Alexandra watched her humans be chastised and cast out of paradise, “the great General who killed so many can’t manage to protect humanity from one lowly demon?”_

_Alexandra glanced over her shoulder. “You!”_

_“Me!” The demon smirked, and something inside Alexandra flickered with recognition._

_“You’re Magdalena.”_

_“Yes, cast from heaven, fallen from grace. We all know the story.”_

_Alexandra didn’t point out that she actually did_ not _know the story, that there were only whispers quickly quelled, that she would, one day, very much like to know how it was that Magdalena had found herself so reviled in a world where she had once been vaunted among the archangels._

_“Why are you here?”_

_“Is it not obvious? I’ve come to corrupt humanity, although it seems it won’t be quite the challenge I had envisioned if their only guardian is you.”_

_“I protected all of Heaven,” Alexandra growled. “What did you do?”_

_“I refused to murder,” Magdalena shot back._

_But then the humans were being banished, and Alexandra didn’t have time to listen to Magdalena’s taunting promises to meet her once more out in the world._

\---

_Despite Magdalena’s promises, they saw little of each other for many lifetimes. Oh, Alexandra knew who was responsible when she found Abel’s slain body in the fields. And she said as much in her intercession to God on behalf of Cain’s descendants, but to no avail. She was simply told to do better, to anticipate what the forces of darkness would do._

_(Only later, after Sodom and Gomorrah, after the fury that burned white hot within her at the sight of Lot’s daughters offered up, after leaving a trail of fire and death and destruction to punish those men who threatened such violence on strangers in their own land, who had fallen the furthest from anything that she could conceive of as right or just, Alexandra learned that her role as Guardian was meant to be far more hands off than her role as General had been.)_

_They crossed paths over the centuries. As Magdalena pushed kingdoms into war, urged vengeance and made realms of people feel the slights and wrongs of their rulers as fresh hurts day in and day out, Alexandra helped carve out spaces for genius and invention, for love and the flourishing of civilization. Of course, as it turned out, sometimes Heaven liked war and praised her for all that it accomplished. And sometimes the production of knowledge was deemed wrong, or born of the wrong hands, though Alexandra could never bring herself to regret it in the way they believed she should._

_For centuries, they tailed one another through Greece. Magdalena found Alexandra spending long days with Pythagoras, and Alexandra, in turn, found Magdalena encouraging Socrates every step of the way, pushing people to question the known and the wisdom of all they had heard. She hadn’t quite understood why a demon would claim Socrates until Heaven sent another angel to do as Alexandra could not and rile up enough dissent to have Socrates put to death. That was the first time she and Magdalena drank together—a night of mourning and grief and confusion that they pretended not to remember the next day as they parted ways once more._

\---

“Got your note,” Alex finally texted Maggie when she’d arrived at the university. After a moment she added, “Heading into a talk now.”

It was only the promise of watching a great mind at work that had Alex shouldering her bag and trying to push the matter to the back of her mind for that moment.

Not that it worked.

It never did.

\---

_“You did this,” Alexandra hissed, spotting Magdalena peering down at the smoldering ruins of the Great Library of Alexandria._

_But when Magdalena turned around, she didn’t look pleased in the way Alexandra had expected. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her fists curled in frustration, and she seemed moved in ways Alexandra had never seen before._

_“Me?” She scoffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder and affecting an air of disinterest. “You haven’t the faintest idea what a powerful force knowledge can be in drawing these humans further away from your cause, have you?”_

_“I—” Alexandra paused. She still didn’t understand_ why _it was so wrong, but she knew that there were whisperings from above—questions about her fitness for a job no one had wanted, one that had carried honor only before humanity’s fall and banishment from the Garden. “I don’t see it that way.”_

_For the first time, Magdalena looked at Alexandra with something other than deep-rooted animosity. “This is why I saw Raphael down here, isn’t it?”_

_“What?” Alexandra knew they had sometimes sent others to undo that which her intervention had wrought, but before it had always seemed to be the lower orders of angels, not…_

_“You don’t know?” Magdalena arched an eyebrow. “You might just be more interesting than I’ve given you credit for, Alexandra.”_

_Alexandra left in a huff._

_But that evening, out looking for wine and a moment to forget about the fiery ruins, she found Magdalena. They sat beside one another and drank in silence for long hours._

_“The Battle of Carchemish—” Alexandra began._

_“Not me.”_

_“Why should I believe you? Michael told me—”_

_“Oh, you misunderstand. I took credit for it, certainly. But I was busy then. On a lovely island with Sappho…”_

_“You knew her, too?”_

_Magdalena’s eyebrows rose. “_ You _knew her?”_

_“Her work, certainly!”_

_“Ah.” Magdalena set down her wine. “I should be going. Destruction to cause. Chaos to incite. All of that.” The threats were serious, but the zealous enthusiasm of the early days seemed long gone from her voice. If Alexandra had to hazard a guess, she’d say the demon looked…tired, more than anything else._

_Still, Alexandra glared. But she couldn’t help but feel that little fault line of doubt and uncertainty deepening._

\---

_“We’re not supposed to keep meeting, you know,” Alexandra whispered, her eyes darting all around them again and again._

_“Afraid I might corrupt you, angel?” Magdalena taunted._

_“I have seen the wars.”_

_“I’ve seen you fighting in the wars.”_

_Alexandra tensed, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of her armor, the sword tucked by her side. “Fighting on the right side. Of wars you caused.”_

_“What I think you mean to say is fighting on the side that someone told you was right in wars I happily took credit for. Your humans are less innocent than you would like.”_

_“They are…puzzling, at times.”_

_Magdalena inhaled deeply. “Do you smell that? Rage and pain and sorrow. All them. All on their own.”_

_“You were spotted with Atilla, you know.”_

_“I never said I was above learning from them. It’s your side that acts all high and mighty, like you know more than anyone else ever could.”_

_“I was there when the Earth was created,” Alexandra huffed._

_“And I’ve seen the fiery depths of hell that you have never once graced with your presence.”_

_A battle cry sounded from the West._

_“Well…I should probably…”_

_“Yes, me as well.”_

_“Right.”_

\---

By the time Alex left the lecture, she was no closer to feeling resolved about matters. But there was that little restaurant in Genoa that had the best pesto, and Maggie had so liked their tiramisu last time…

On a whim, Alex sent her a message confirming for the following evening. She could always claim she’d been summoned elsewhere for a necessary miracle if things got too awkward.

Her phone chimed a moment later.

 **Maggie:** Wouldn’t miss it for all of hell.

Okay, 24 hours. She had 24 whole hours to prepare herself for an evening spent talking about something as human as feelings. She shuddered.

Her phone chimed again.

 **Maggie:** But, it occurs to me that it’s dinner time in Italy now… And really, only you angels think patience is still a virtue

Alex pocketed her phone. She could simply pretend she hadn’t seen the message. And by the time she got home, it would be too late. Surely there would be traffic. One did not simply drive out of downtown London on a Friday night and expect to get home in a few minutes.

It was hardly dishonest. Hardly dishonest at all.

Resolved, Alex set off for the car park, humming softly under her breath as she walked. By the time she got to her car, she felt calmer once more. She had notes to review, progress to measure, pesto to plan for.

“Hello, angel,” Maggie drawled, popping her head up from the backseat.

Alex spun around, her heart racing and her hands fisted in a very unangelic gesture. She forced them to relax. “What are you doing in my car?”

“Making sure you saw my message.”

“Oh, what message would—”

“You still have read receipts turned on.”

Alex frowned. It was one of her least favorite of Maggie’s inventions. “I didn’t tell you where I’d be.”

“Ah, but you forget about find my friends. Didn’t turn that one off either.”

“These should really be opt-in features,” Alex grumbled.

“In any case, dinner? I’m famished, and your Tic Tacs just made me hungrier.”

Reaching for container, Alex sighed at finding it empty. “You couldn’t throw it out?”

“I’m evil, don’t you remember?”

Alex scoffed. “An asshole, sure, but evil?”

“Watch that language, angel. Don’t want to end up banished.” Before Alex could respond, Maggie pressed on. “Now I believe we have dinner plans in Genoa.”

“I’m really not supposed to be…poofing about unnecessarily anymore,” Alex began, but she was in a side alley in Genoa, dressed in a little black dress and heels and clutching Maggie’s arm by the time she’d finished speaking.

Alex blinked, running her fingers along her sides “This feels expensive.”

“It was.”

“Did you steal it?”

“They’ll find the money in their cash register come morning.”

“And where did that money come from?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know the answer to that one. But it’s an easy write off. Tempting the forces of good”—Maggie’s gaze dragged up and down the dress—“and anyone else who might see you tonight.”

Alex rolled her eyes and hoped the darkness was cover enough for the flush she could feel creeping up her chest, though she suspected Maggie heard the hitch in her breathing when she reached out and tangled their fingers together, drawing Alex towards the restaurant.

\---

_Alexandra pondered the invitation she’d found beside her bed. On the one hand, she should, perhaps, exercise more caution over possible temptations than she had been. But on the other, she did love the theater, and she had heard of this John Lyly man. Besides, she reasoned, it was good to see what the humans deemed entertaining._

_When she arrived, she found Magdalena gambling outside with a group of drunkards. She should have recognized that handwriting…_

_“Alexandra!” Magdalena grinned and waved, swiping the last of the coins from the dirt. “I have just enough to treat you tonight.”_

_“Why have you invited me, Magdalena?”_

_“Maggie, actually. Magdalena was so very long.”_

_Alexandra blinked. “You can change these things?”_

_“Oh you’re going to like tonight’s play.” Alexandra furrowed her brow, but Magdalena—no, Maggie—brushed it aside. “_ Gallathea. _I assume you’ve not seen it yet?”_

_“Not yet.” She hadn’t heard of it, either, but she didn’t particularly want to give Maggie the satisfaction of being two steps ahead._

_Maggie pulled her along, and soon she was thrust into a world of boy actors dressed as beautiful young women masquerading as young men and falling ever more in love with one another._

_“Seeing we are both boys, and both lovers, that our affection may have some show and seem as it were love, let me call thee mistress.”_

_Alexandra gasped. “Are they… But they suspect the truth now!”_

_Maggie hummed in acknowledgment, watching Alexandra more than she watched the play._

_“And they are to be married?”_

_A small smile met her question. She noticed the warmth of Maggie’s body pressed along her side and tried to repress a shiver—at what, she knew not._

_After the play, Alexandra barely felt the crush of the crowd pressing past her, jostling her out of the way._

_“You look like you could use a drink.”_

_Alexandra nodded and let herself be led to a tavern, barely blinking until she had a mug of ale in her hand and a warm body next to her once more._

_“Money. I owe you money,” Alexandra mumbled._

_“No need. Next time is on you, hmm?”_

_“Sure. Sure.”_

\---

_“Did you enjoy your time at Versailles?” Maggie asked, all faux innocence and wide smiles._

_“It was…enlightening,” Alex grumbled, her face flaming at the memories._

_“So tell me, Alexandra—”_

_“Alex. Just Alex.”_

_“Oh?”_

_Alex gave a curt nod._

_“Would you like to tell me about your revelations, Alex?”_

_“We’re in the middle of a revolution.”_

_“And yet we find ourselves on the same side. How rare is that?”_

_“Liberté, égalité? Those sound like they belong to us.”_

_“Do they really, though?” Maggie shrugged. “Either way, the guillotine is rather marvelous, is it not?”_

_They heard the roar of a crowd in the distance._

_“I believe it’s your turn to buy me a drink. Come, and tell me of your travels.”_

_And somehow, Alex found, with Maggie it was safe. With the demon sworn to be her enemy, she felt more at home than almost anywhere else in the world._

_And so it was that they found themselves meeting ever more frequently. A drink here. A meal there. A battle over the fate of humanity in between. There were trips to the ballet, to theaters, to artisans’ shops. There were evenings spent bickering and those spent dancing, held in one another’s arms. There were long wartime nights, both of them huddled close, listening to gunshots and bombs sounding around them, both hoping that it wouldn’t be the end. They exchanged missives over regime changes and rising stars and the quotidian moments that threatened to be lost to time forever._

\---

Once they were seated and had ordered, Maggie leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “So when were you planning to tell me you loved me?”

Alex’s silverware clattered to the ground.

“I mean, I have the letters if you need a refresher.”

“Those are archival documents!” Alex protested, as Maggie pulled papers from her pocket.

“First of all, they were addressed to me, which makes them mine, should I wish to reclaim them. Secondly, these are copies. I don’t have a reason for ruining his research…yet.”

“Oh.”

“But perhaps…perhaps you no longer feel this way.”

Alex didn’t think she was imagining the way Maggie’s expression darkened at that.

“I didn’t say…I just mean…feelings are supposed to be for humans.”

“I was once an angel, Alex. I know you have feelings.”

“Not messy ones! Not like these!” Alex groaned, rubbing her hands across her face. “You have confused me for centuries. Do you know what it’s like to know everything and suddenly be confronted with something you cannot understand?”

Maggie’s gaze dropped to the table as she trailed a finger along the edge of her napkin. “I know what it’s like to feel secure and have it all ripped away from you, yes.”

“I—shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Here, on Earth, it’s not so bad. Not with you.” She glanced up from beneath thick eyelashes, and Alex felt her breath catch.

“I understand the sentiment,” Alex admitted.

“Surely you’re not happier here than in heaven.”

Alex shrugged her shoulders. “There’s a reason I ignored God’s summons for the war to end the world.” There were many. She and Maggie had spent long nights realizing that they had grown fond of humanity, did not want to see it end like little more than a playing piece in a war between forces neither of them much understood anymore. She swallowed, preparing herself to say aloud the part that had gone unspoken for so many centuries. “I like it here. With you. And these terribly messy, confusing, irrational humans.”

“Well, we managed to stave off the end of this world once together. What do you say to a few more centuries of keeping it running?”

“You and me?”

“I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

And even though Alex had, quite literally, been there from the start, watching the planets being born from nothingness, for the first time in her long, long life, she swore she actually felt the world shift beneath her feet into a new order.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter and Tumblr @sapphicscholar


End file.
